


Wing Man

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Holding [25]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: At least until he starts being annoying again, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post 2010-2011 NHL Season, Tyler is surprisingly helpful for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:19:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Brad’s about to slap himself because surely he’s dreaming or something. No way in hell is Patrice Bergeron, a certified straight guy, sitting at the bar in a gay club right now.





	Wing Man

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is from a prompt on [this list](https://fandom-discussions.tumblr.com/post/185635761925/pride-month-ideas): [[Person A has a massive crush on Person B but they assume that Person B is straight and therefore wouldn’t be attracted to them. Then one night Person A goes out to a gay bar/club where they happen to run into Person B.]]
> 
> Please know going into this fic that I know very little about Tyler Seguin other than the fact that he was Marchy's best friend and that he got traded before I started watching hockey. Hopefully I didn't get too many things wrong.

“Okay, fucking why are you even going with me? You’re straight,” Brad asks.

“I’m your wing man, bro!” Seggy grins. “Plus, look at me, I’m fucking hot. Any dudes who hit on me will be immediately redirected to you. There’s no _way_ you’re gonna go home by yourself tonight with me helping you out. You’re _so_ getting _laid,_ man, I promise.”

“Then how are you gonna get home?” Brad wonders, glancing away from the road.

“Cab. Worst-case, I walk, isn’t this place only like fifteen minutes away from where I live?”

“Yeah, fifteen minutes in a fucking car, dumbass.”

“Point. Okay, so cab.” Segs leers at him. “So like, how does it work? Like with sex, do you give or receive?”

“With someone I don’t know? I always top, definitely. If I’ve known him for a few months and trust him enough, then it can go either way. Why?”

“Just curious… I’m picturing some guy like half a foot taller bending you over the side of the bed and just nailing you right to the mattress-”

“Why the fuck are you thinking about me having sex, man? Is there something I should know?” Brad laughs.

“What? If you fucked girls I’d ask about that instead!” his friend protests, holding up his hands.

“You’re fucking unbelievable sometimes, Seggy.”

“Thanks, bro.”

“Not a compliment.”

“Don’t care. Plus you go around shirtless and shit all the time, so it’s not just me thinking about how you look getting boned, I guarantee it. There were at least five dudes at Foxwoods eye-fucking you after we won the Cup.”

“There was? I was so fucking plastered, man, I don’t remember like half the shit we did that night.”

“Yeah, bro, totally! Like half the chicks were, too, but obviously that’s not relevant to your situation or whatever.”

“You’re a little shit sometimes, you know that?”

“Speak for yourself, Marchy, I’m still way fucking taller than you.”

“You have like three inches on me, tops.”

“Four! I’m six-one!”

“Yeah, whatever. That’s literally the same as Bergy, and he’s not ‘way taller’ than me, either.”

“Hey speaking of Bergy-”

“Oh my god, Segs! Not fucking now!” Brad yells. “He has a fucking girlfriend! That’s a pretty obvious ‘no!’”

“They broke up,” Seggy informs him. “Like, five weeks ago. Something like that? Fucking imagine that shit, your boyfriend wins a fucking Stanley Cup and you break up with him a week later. That’s just, like, so unreasonably fucking stupid.”

“Why’d she dump him?”

“No idea, I ran into him and Big Z getting takeout like the day after it happened or something and Z was telling him all the usual ‘yeah that sucks but it’s not the end of the world’ kinda shit… so, point being, Bergy’s now single and it’s been long enough that if you grew some balls and asked him out he won’t get mad about it-”

“Oh my god!” Brad screams, cutting him off. “I’m not fucking talking about this right now! I’m here to get laid, not to listen to your stupid shit!”

“Dude, come on, every time you look at the guy you start fucking drooling. Man up and ask him out on a date already. It’s fucking _Patrice Bergeron,_ so not only could you do way, way worse than that but there’s also no way he’d get mad at you for it. I guarantee you’re not going to meet some guy at this club who’s going to take your mind off him, either.”

“Who knows, I might.”

“You won’t, man.”

“Fuck you, I might, you don’t know.”

“I do know! You’re so gone for him I’m surprised you don’t constantly run into walls because he distracts you when you walk by him in hallways and shit!”

The argument runs in circles until they finally pull into the parking lot and get out of the car. Brad straightens his clothes, sticks a mint Tic-Tac into his mouth, takes a deep breath and leads Seggy into the club. Most of the bouncers know him by now, so he’s waved right in with no wait. He’s only going to have one or two drinks, though, since he’ll have to drive home with his hook-up later on.

Unfortunately, Segs wasn’t completely wrong - guys start making passes at Brad’s team mate almost immediately, which means like ten people are deflected to him in the first six minutes. After that he gets fed up, pulls Tyler to the side, and explains that he’s only interested in the good ones. He’s not that desperate and there needs to be some quality control, please and thank you.

Brad has a shot of something fruity on Segs’ insistence, then goes over to start dancing. He’s really not great at it, stereotypes be damned, but Seggy is. It’s pretty much the opposite of a straight-passing gay guy: Tyler Seguin is a gay-passing straight guy. It’s very bizarre to watch.

Brad nicely turns down a couple of offers while his friend disappears to probably go do a bunch of shots and then do something stupid, which… shit. Brad knew there was a reason he was stupid for bringing Seggy with him to this place. Instead of checking out his options for sex, it’s a lot more likely he’s going to go home empty-handed and babysitting a drunk hockey player until tomorrow afternoon. God dammit, he should’ve been smarter than this. (Really, Brad could just find someone anyway and leave Tyler’s stupid drunk ass here, but he’s not a bad enough friend to pull a stunt like that.) Thinking about it tempts Brad to get hammered with Tyler and fuck his chances of getting some action, but his car is outside and he doesn’t want to have to come back for it tomorrow while being hungover, so… wow. Brad really just screwed himself from every possible direction tonight.

Then he’s grabbed by the wrist and dragged off the dance floor - he’s never seen Segs so bug-eyed.

“Bro! Get over here, you _gotta_ see this!”

“Look, man, I really just wanna find a hookup-”

“No, Marchy, fucking for real! I’d tell you but I know you won’t believe me!” Tyler insists.

Brad rolls his eyes but stops fighting, because maybe that way it’ll be over quicker. They stop dead about eight feet from the bar and Brad expects Seggy to say something else, but he doesn’t, he just points. Brad’s immediately convinced someone spiked his drink earlier, because there’s no way that what he’s seeing is real.

Those shoulders.

That haircut.

Those ears.

Even from behind, Patrice Bergeron is unmistakable, and Brad’s about to slap himself because surely he’s dreaming or something. No way in _hell_ is Patrice Bergeron, a certified straight guy, sitting at the bar in a gay club right now.

“Go talk to him, man!” Seggy hisses in his ear.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Brad whispers.

“Probably the same thing as you, now fucking go talk to him already or I’ll start kicking you until you come to your senses.”

Swallowing, Brad convinces himself (or tries to) that the reason he’s following through with this obviously terrible idea is because he doesn’t want his friend to start kicking him. Getting closer, he realizes Patrice is talking to the other guy sitting at the bar, and it looks like… fuck, it looks like _flirting._ Bar Guy is smiling dreamily and nodding a little, then taking a slow sip of whatever drink that is. Close enough to hear them talk, Brad thinks for a second that his brain forgot English until he realizes they’re speaking French - and is immediately speared with jealousy across every last inch of his being.

Bar Guy notices Brad first and jerks his chin. In a very obvious Quebecois accent: “Do you know this man?”

Patrice turns to look and startles so hard he almost falls out of his chair. “Marchy! Hi! Uh, I didn’t know you were going to… uh, be here… can I get you a drink?”

Brad doesn’t honestly know how to feel anymore as he watches Patrice blush and babble nervously, other than indescribably fucking confused. After a second it registers that he’s been asked something.

“Yeah, a drink would probably be good,” Brad mumbles, taking a seat on Patrice’s left.

Thankfully, French Guy just raises an eyebrow at them and then leaves, so they’re essentially alone for the moment.

Patrice waves the bartender over: “Can you get him a vodka cranberry? Thanks.” Then he looks at Brad. “So… you look… really shocked to see me.”

“That’s ’cause I am,” Brad blurts out. “You’re like, so obviously straight, Bergy.”

“Yeah, I’m actually not,” Patrice replies with a nervous expression. “I’m not, uh, I’m not gay either, I’m just… something else. I kind of get interested in a person and it doesn’t really matter so much what they are. And. I came here to get my mind off of somebody.”

“Your ex? Seggy said you broke up with your girlfriend a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, we decided it wasn’t working, but… no. Not her. We parted on good terms. Actually what happened is that she could tell something was bothering me and I kept not talking about it. Finally I… admitted to her, and… and to myself at the same time, that I’m in love with somebody else. It wasn’t fair for me to keep being distant with her and pretending. She was really nice about it, too.”

“So, what, you came here to forget about this other girl?” Brad interrupts, not meaning to sound as bitter as he probably comes across as.

Patrice flinches a little. “No. It’s a guy.”

That… actually makes it worse, somehow. Not that Brad ever thought he can measure up to the standards of someone as amazing and perfect as Patrice, but… it still hurts. He doesn’t need reminding that he’s not good enough.

“Oh.” Brad’s drink arrives and he knocks it back all at once. Fuck, he needs to stop being pissed off and reactive. “So. This mystery guy. Instead of just, like, talking to him about how you feel, you’re here trying to pick someone else up.” Vaguely he’s aware of how hypocritical he’s being by saying this shit, but he also really doesn’t care right now. “Man, you’re a superstar for a professional sports franchise, there’s no way in hell you couldn’t _at least_ talk this guy into bed with you for starters. Plus you’re fucking gorgeous and amazing, okay? Like it would be one thing if you’re fuck ugly like I am, but you’re not, so there’s literally no reason for you to not go find this guy and bag him.”

What the hell is he doing? Brad’s right now talking to a single, apparently-not-so-straight guy he’s had a thing for since the end of last season. Why the fuck is he driving Patrice right into another man’s arms like this? He’s such a fucking emotional masochist.

“Marchy-”

“Seriously, bro, I mean it. Don’t do what I do and sit around torturing yourself like this, go find this dude and talk to him.”

Patrice shakes his head. “I am talking to him. And also wondering if I’m about to regret buying him that drink.”

“What, the French guy? He left already-”

“No, Brad, you!” Patrice interrupts.

Brad just stares at his team mate, processing. Eventually the best response he can come up with is a very eloquent “Wait, _what?_ ”

Patrice frowns. “Do you really have such little self-respect that you find it so hard to believe? Yes, Bradley, I’m interested in you. I’ve _been_ interested in you. When you came out to me it started taking up a lot of my head space, and… I’m surprised we did so good in the playoffs, because that’s the only time I can ever remember being so distracted on the ice. Usually I can tune things like that out, but this time I couldn’t, because you were always right there watching me.”

“Yeah, Julien told me to,” Brad answers, ready to defend himself. “When I was brand new, he told me to watch you and do everything you did. Because you’re the best so that means I can’t be, but I can sure as shit be second-best.”

“I’m not done yet. I know he had that conversation with you, so I was trying to figure out for awhile if that’s the only reason you were watching me like that… I wanted it to be for other reasons, too, but you’re the most unsubtle, shameless man I know, and I thought you would’ve said something by now if you wanted me.”

Brad’s fucking floored by this, and for once he has no idea what to say. There’s too much going on in his brain - surprise, relief, fear, annoyance directed at himself for being such a fucking wimp about this, annoyance at Tyler for actually being right about something.

Finally, like the well-spoken master linguist he is, Brad goes for this: “Bro you just said I’m unsubtle but you have no fucking clue that I have a thing for you. Because I so fucking do. My stupid ass has been gone on you for like, forever now. Fucking Seggy figured it out without me even telling him a thing… how did you not notice?”

Both of Patrice’s eyebrows go up. “…really?”

“Yeah, really!” A thought occurs to him. “Did you drive here?”

“No, I got a ride, why?”

“Well, you came here to drown your problems in booze and then get picked up by some random guy, right? Now this random guy is picking you up. Once it stops feeling funny under my tongue, we’re going back to my place.”

Brad expects Patrice to say something about wanting a reasonable discussion like adults about this, but he only gives a bright smile. “Okay, then.”

They get up and dance together after that, and Brad’s admittedly a tiny bit relieved that Patrice isn’t that much better at it than he is. He flash-floods with irritation when Seggy shows up, but that goes away quickly when his friend just grins at him, whispers something to Patrice, and immediately vanishes again. Thankfully it doesn’t take all that long until he feels safe to drive again, because he wants to get out of here before Tyler rethinks that unusual amount of tact and decides to come back.

In the car: “So what’d Segs want?”

Patrice chuckles with a slight note of embarrassment. “He told me to wear a condom.”

“Oh my fucking god, I’m gonna strangle him the next time I see him, I swear.”

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything - I mean, I wasn’t expecting anything to begin with. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“Bergy.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to fuck me?”

“Uh, right now?”

“Not this second, but yeah, when I’m not driving anymore and it would actually be like, safe to do that.”

“I think we should talk about it first. That’s kind of an important topic.”

Ah, there it is, Bergy being too responsible and adult about things.

“That’s not what I asked, do you want to?”

“I… uh…” There’s a pause. “Yeah,” Patrice finally admits.

“Cool, because I want you to, too. Don’t worry, I got all the stuff.”

“But Marchy, I…”

“What?”

“I don’t usually - with other men. There’s been blow jobs, I know how to do that, but not… so I’m nervous.” Another pause. “I don’t want to hurt you or something by accident.”

“That’s okay,” Brad shrugs. “We could just do it the other way around if you want. I learned how to top by bottoming, so…”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not if the guy on top knows what he’s doing.”

“Do you?”

“Oh hell yeah. Hey, I promise I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t think I can make it good for you, Bergy. I’d never hurt you.”

* * *

Brad wakes up the next morning because he can’t breathe - Patrice has rolled over and crushed him into the mattress. Once he gets them to a more reasonable configuration, he slaps his hand around on the side table until he finds his phone and is completely unsurprised to find about three dozen texts from Segs.

 ********_> bro were r u_  
_> did u go home w bergy_  
_> bet your lettin him nail u rigt now_  
> _omg bro r u srsly getting nailed_  
> _u got 2 tell me everything l8r_  
> _bro txt me back alredy_  
> _if u didnt hit that im going 2 kick ur ass cuz it means somethings wrong w u_  
> _bro_  
> _bro u there_  
> _marchy_  
> _dude come on txt me back_  
> _its ben like 2 hrs is he still fuckin u_  
> _ok if u dont txt me soon im going 2 freak out cuz something couldve happend 2 u_  
> _y wont u say anything_  
> _bro come on already_  
> _MARCHY_  
> _TXT ME BACK OR IM COMING 2 UR PLACE AND KICKING IN UR DOOR MAN_  
> _fine fuckin be that way_  
> _u asshole if u dont have a good reson 4 not txting back im going 2 b pissed_  
> _marchy srsly im worried_  
> _y wont u txt back man_  
> _marchy_  
> _bro_  
> _come on man  
>_ _fine fuck u_

Brad’s so glad he was smart enough to put his phone on silent/no vibration. Looking at the time stamps on the texts, he grins realizing that yeah, he was fucking Patrice when most of them came in. It was glorious, too - watching him breathe really hard and start to sweat as he got overwhelmed by the feeling of Brad moving in him for the first time. Brad’s still not sure how he had enough self-control not to come in just thirty seconds with that gorgeous sight under him.

Patrice starts to twitch. He groans a little, struggling to wake up. “Marchy…?”

“Yeah?”

“…thank you.”

Brad chuckles and drops his phone on the corner of the bed so he can play with Patrice’s hair. “You’re welcome. So how’d I do?”

“Amazing… and me?”

“You were perfect,” he smiles. “You’re always perfect.”

“No’m not. Stop saying that.”

“Never.” Brad shuffles around a little and kisses him. “What do you want for breakfast? I think I have pancake mix, so I can make waffles, or I’ve got eggs.”

“Waffles… but you have real syrup, right? Not the fake crap?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to, man? Of _course_ it’s the real shit, I’m from Canada too, y’know.”

“Right.” Now it’s Patrice kissing him. “Hey, we should talk about… this.”

“Yeah, but we can eat while we’re doing that. You can have a shower while I’m cooking, it’ll help you wake up some more probably.”

“Okay.”

Half an hour later, Patrice is considerably less groggy as Brad serves up coffee and waffles with real maple syrup. (The syrup is actually from Vermont instead of Canada, but that’s okay.) They both look at each other and smile like idiots for a moment when he sits down.

Then Patrice seems slightly nervous: “Uh, so… this isn’t going to just be a one-time thing, right? That’s not what it sounded like when we were talking last night, but I just want to make sure.”

“No, of course it’s not. I can’t believe you’re hurting my feelings after I made you breakfast.”

“I’m sorry, Marchy, I didn’t mean to be insulting. It just seems like… you probably didn’t get so good at sex by staying at home with Netflix, that’s all.”

“Okay, point, but all those hook-ups were me trying to not keep obsessively crushing on you, Bergy. Yes, I want you for more than just sex. I never got to wake up like this before, but that’s something I want, too.”

“You’re so young, though.”

“So? You’re just three years older than me, right?”

“That’s not what I meant. Don’t you still want to go out and do crazy shit all the time? And party with Tyler? Things like that?”

“Well… yeah, but I kind of thought you could come do that stuff with me,” Brad answers. “And I do other shit besides hang out with Seggy getting trashed, you know. Plus don’t you have hobbies? You can bring me along for stuff that you like doing. I thought that’s how it works when you date people. You take turns doing what the other one likes.”

Brad tries really hard not to be insulted at how surprised Patrice looks when he says those things. He knows he’s insane and he knows he does stupid shit on a regular basis, but somehow that translates to people assuming that he simply doesn’t think at all about anything ever. It’s not true. Brad’s thought about this kind of a lot.

“Yeah, that’s how it usually works. Actually I’m really glad you said that, I thought I was being selfish and wanted too much from you too fast.”

Okay. He probably should’ve seen that coming - Patrice being too nice for his own good and thinking he was being unreasonable when he really wasn’t.

“You’re not selfish, Bergy. You’re like, the least selfish person ever. Now eat your waffles.”

Patrice chuckles and does as he’s told. “Mm, that’s so good, Marchy. You’re a great cook.”

“It’s just pancake batter. You follow the directions on the box.”

“My mother says I could burn water, so that’s still outside my reach. I have to buy salads at the store and things like that.”

Brad laughs. “So you’re saying you only want me so that you can get fed?”

“No, of course not. You’re also funny and you’re a nice guy, and you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. You’re also better looking than everyone says you are, including you.”

He takes this ego-boost in stride and flashes his best grin. “Thanks, Bergy. I don’t agree on that last one, but the rest of that was nice.”

“Stop it, Marchy. You’re cute, just admit it.”

“Never. I can just coast through life on my bad looks without doing any work.”

They both laugh and then go back to attacking their food for a minute. He wishes he’d been smart enough to imagine this part, too, when he was fantasizing about having Patrice - not just going out and doing stuff, or having sex, but a tiny moment like now where they have breakfast together in comfortable silence. It’s just… really, really nice. It makes him feel weirdly calm.

Then his fucking phone rings, and Brad wishes he wasn’t stupid enough to take it off silent.

“Yeah?”

“BRO WHAT THE FUCK!” Tyler’s so loud he has to hold the phone away from his ear. “Why didn’t you say anything back last night?! You gave me like, anxiety and shit! I thought something happened to you!”

“Sorry, man, I was busy with other shit,” Brad answers, not sorry at all. “You said you’d catch a ride home.”

“Yeah, and I did, but you just like disappeared without telling me and it freaked me out, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever. Look, I’m like, right in the middle of something right now, so can you bitch me out over this later?”

A short pause. “Oh my god, Bergy spent the night with you.”

“Seggy-”

“Wow! You got plowed _and_ he stuck around after!”

“Okay, first of all - you know what, no, you’re a little shit and I don’t owe you any fucking details until you calm the fuck down, bro. I’m going to enjoy my fucking breakfast now, don’t call me until at least five. Bye.” He turns his phone off completely and throws it onto the counter behind him. “God al-fucking-mighty.”

“He wanted the gory details?” Patrice guesses.

“Yeah. He’s not getting them, either. When I woke up this morning there was like, twenty texts from him waiting for me. Nosy fucker.”

Patrice smiles and shakes his head. “Yeah. So backing up about twenty topics, just to be clear, we’re definitely dating now, right? Remember that’s the word you used.”

“Yeah, Bergy, we’re dating now. I wanna like, go places with you and watch movies and have more hot sex like last night.”

“Okay. We can talk about this a little more later, but I’m glad we’re on the same page. I’m going to visit my family pretty soon, but if you want we can go out and do something tomorrow before I have to leave.”

“Yeah, that’ll be great.”


End file.
